


Doorway

by wolfgirl232



Category: Original Work
Genre: Domination, F/M, Power Play, Submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-29
Updated: 2014-01-29
Packaged: 2018-01-10 10:41:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1158685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfgirl232/pseuds/wolfgirl232
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He can feel her there watching him, knowing she is barely breathing in her silence, dying for him to acknowledge her. Just for this, he waits to satiate her, his gaze still pouring over the documents, correcting a line here and there, checking the angle once more. He hears her shift against the moulding and finally his eyes move to her, the curtain of soft brown hair over her cheekbone, her naked frame crouched on hands and knees in anticipation.</p><p>Just a bit of unfandomy fic drabble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Doorway

He sat at the desk working intently over the blueprints. His white collared shirt was rolled up to just below his elbows, a sure sign of concentration.

 

She leaned her naked shoulder on the doorframe, head tilted tenderly to one side. Her eyes roved over the brown belt encircling his narrow waist, holding his khakis perfectly in place.

 

He can feel her there watching him, knowing she is barely breathing in her silence, dying for him to acknowledge her. Just for this, he waits to satiate her, his gaze still pouring over the documents, correcting a line here and there, checking the angle once more. He hears her shift against the moulding and finally his eyes move to her, the curtain of soft brown hair over her cheekbone, her naked frame crouched on hands and knees in anticipation. Her slender body remains, for the most part, just out of his vision, and he aches inside for her return to him. He can already feel her, the imprint she leaves burned on his memory, his skin. The feel of her hips in his hands, her lips on his throat begging him silently, the warmth of her, the shadow her eyelashes cast on her cheeks... His own eyelids feel heavy and he drags himself back into the sunlight-shafted room, watching her hover in the doorway.

 

At his silent beckoning, she moves hesitantly into the room, her movements felinely extenuated, shoulderblades rolling beneath her skin. She bites her lip absent-mindedly in anticipation and she watches his gaze heat.

 

She basks in it, moving languidly across the floor. When she is halfway to him, he spreads his legs wide in the chair, rolling backwards a few inches.

 

A few simple actions and he can see her chest heaving, the hunger apparent in her face. Good god. There she is, your little one, devoted in everything she does. Your consultant when you want an intelligent opinion on your designs, your best friend when you go musuem hunting on your trips to Europe. She is the love of your life, the sunlight playing over her soft features in the early morning. Currently, she is your ravenous slave girl, desperate to bend over backwards to meet your approval, patient to no end. Slinking closer, you let her submission awaken you, your shoulders stiffening slightly. Your chin lowers as she approaches, smiling down at her as she resurfaces from under the table, her lips inches from your inseam.

 

He takes your face in his hands, thumbs skimming over your jaw. While the smile gracing his features is beautiful, something menacing in it has your pulse pounding in the hollow of your throat.

 

He gathers your hair together in one hand, holding your head still. With the other he makes short work of his khakis, pulling forth his already hard cock. Your response is instantaneous, your lips parting and your brow furrowed, begging. It is second nature to you, this response, and still you crave him. Always, you feel the pull to worship at his feet, to please, to serve. All you want in return is the sounds he makes in heady pleasure, or the praise he showers on you when you've done well. You live for these.

  
"Are you going to be a good girl?" You ask her, letting the condescension you know she loves to color your tone. She nods enthusiastically, looking up at you with wide eyes. "Good." Still using her hair as a leash, you lower her head towards your member, your eyes fluttering as her warm breath washes over you. You let her affect you only when she is not looking, at least when power play is involved. But as long as she is occupied with her task, you let your eyes close and your head fall back, soaking her in.


End file.
